song of the migrant,
the final farewell before leaving
you will depart only once in your lifetime
and the first part of your journey will always be uphill
and although over the years we may fly away around the world
we all migrants to our home soil we belong
we are only clods of mud on the trail
we are flowers of the field behind the house
where children long ago we use to play
we are only clods of mud on the way
you will depart only once in your lifetime
and the first piece of the journey will always be uphill
the time of migration is only one
it is a defined moment embroidered in time and space
it is a precise place in the emptiness and silence
is a place engraved and forged deeply in our hearts forever
emptiness that over the years we will fill with hugs kisses and good memories
you will depart only once in your lifetime
you depart with that very last farewell
you depart with that last and endless embrace
an embrace that will never ever leave you
an embrace that will sustain you forever in your journey
an embrace that will give you a shock in the morning
when in a foreign land you will salute the rising Sun
when with a last breath of hope in the evening you will go to sleep
you will go to sleep
you will depart only once in your lifetime
and the first part of the journey will always be uphill
we are all migrants, we belong forever to our home ground and soil
we are only clods of mud on the trail
we are flowers of the field behind the house where children long ago we use to play
we are just clods mud on the trail
we are only soil of a field to be sown
on us the years and people we will encounter in our wandering
will spread new seeds
will spread the seeds of the new generations
you will depart only once in your lifetime
and the first part of your journey will always be uphill
we are only soil of a field to be sown
on us the flowers of the new generations will grow gently yet strongly
toughened by our own mestizo, wanderer and nomad blood and soul
watered by our own blood, irrigated by our sweat and tears,
bread harshly earned with heavy and humble jobs
out in the freezing weather out in the cold
out in the freezing weather out in the cold
watered with the bitter and sweet juice squeezed from weariness
we are like mature and ripe grapes smashed in the farmer hands
flowers will grow on our tears, on our pains and on our smiles
smiles sitting around a table full of homemade cooking for the festivity day
we are only clods of mud the trail
we are only clods of mud the trail
you will depart only once in your lifetime
and the first part of your journey will always be uphill
you will take off only once in your lifetime
in that exact moment embroidered in time and space
in a specific place in the emptiness and in the silence
a place engraved and forged deeply in our hearts forever
over the years we will fill that void with hugs kisses and good memories
over the years we will fill that emptiness with hugs kisses and good memories
you will depart only once in your lifetime
whereas the time of the journey back home is always, always and it continues for a lifetime
the time of the return back home is always and it will continues for a lifetime
and that journey back home is another chant, it is a completely different story
it is the eternal homecoming song
the eternal homecoming song
you will depart only once in your lifetime
and the first part of your journey will always be uphill
and although over the years we may fly away around the world
we all migrants belong forever to our own home ground to our soil
we are only clods mud the trail
we are flowers of the field behind the house where children long ago we use to play
we are only clods mud the trail
we are only soil of a field to be sown
the flowers of the new generations will grow on us
the flowers of the new generations will grow on us forever
just like the flowers of the field behind the house where children we long ago use to play
we long ago use to play
song of the migrant
a final farewell before going away
Marco Bo
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